Blackstaff

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Tsarra, disoriented by her dreams and the unfamiliar bed, ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. She could tell from the angle of the sun through the window she had slept far later than usual. Her pillow and face were moist with tears. Remnants of her dream returned, a frustrating kaleidoscope of Malek, thrusting sword points, lunging and roaring mummified faces, chains, and the spirit of Danthra moving through it all with a look of tremulous fear on her face. Tsarra had tried to comfort her, but her friend remained out of reach. The final dream image terrified her-a sharn suddenly erupted between her and Malek Aldhanek and engulfed Danthra, her face screaming at Tsarra from beneath the black, oily skin.

Tsarra shifted slightly to extricate her feet from beneath Nameless. The tressym bit her toes through the blanket, complaining that she was disturbing his sleep.

"Ow! Blast you! Long time we were up anyway."

The tressym narrowed its eyes at her and she felt rather than heard his response: "Been a-hunt. Tasty mouse. Played with the happylittlemanPikal up top. Sleep now. Mistress-friend tired too.

Sleepgood… unless food?" He yawned, arching his back and stretching claws, tail, and wings all at once.

"I have to eat too, but we need to go with Khelben to the Wands villa," Tsarra said, getting out of bed with a loud yawn.

As she suspected, the tressym perked up when she mentioned the Wands villa and began to groom himself with vigor. Tsarra smiled, remembering the lovely white tressym Lady Olanhar Wands had as her own familiar. She also remembered the arrival of five black and gray tressym cubs months after their last visit to a Wands gala early last year.

"Promise me you'll behave with some restraint while we're there?" she asked the familiar. His only response, as if on cue, was to cough up a large hairball onto the woolen blanket.

Tsarra stretched her body in the sunbeam then paused to look at the belt she'd been wearing all night. It had seemed odd to leave it on, since she preferred sleeping unclad. Still, the belt was warm from her body, and its green gems glinted in the sunshine. She ran her fingers over the metal, its texture and lightness far finer than any her fingers had ever touched before. It felt like the belt lightened and became part of her skin the longer she wore it. Tsarra made a mental note to do some study of elven artifacts when she had the time.

All she knew at that moment was that it was an ancient artifact of the elves and it had something to do with their current dilemma.

She looked around for her clothes, which she had dumped on the floor before collapsing abed. She found her leathers piled neatly on a side table across the room.

A scrap of parchment on them said. "Meet Khelben next door after you rise. I had your students clean your armor and better waterproof it. L."

Tsarra dressed quickly in the clean, supple leathers. As she buckled on her sword belt and grabbed her quiver and bow, Nameless growled deeply. She turned to see him standing on the bed's footboard, his claws digging into the woodwork and every hair on his body tensed and up. The emotions hit hard, as a wave of anger suddenly washed over her, carrying with it frustration, impatience, and sadness. The emotional eddy swirled around her and her familiar for seconds, both of them not knowing what caused it until a voice came into their heads.

Khelben sent, Apologies. My concentration slipped a moment. Things are tense with the count. Tsarra happened to notice in the mirror that her kiira glowed slightly when that power was used. Now that you're awake, come meet our guest, since none of us can breakfast without tending to him first.

Tsarra nodded. I'll be right there, Master.

Tsarra, you're a colleague now, given how many of my secrets you now hold, the Blackstaff sent. I think you can drop the formality imposed on younger charges. Khelben will do. Leave Nameless out of our interview, as Gamalon seems to have a feline allergy.

Tsarra ran a reassuring hand over the tressym's body, smoothing out his fur. He began a light purr then sneezed, and forced his head under her palm once to mark it. "Not staying inside. Sunnywarm morningflyabout, chase more food. Goto happymateplace to play?"

"Not yet, friend, or at least not me." Tsarra replied. "I have to stay with Khelben, but we'll meet you at the Wands villa soon enough.

Enjoy your flight, and let me know if you find any trouble."

"No preythoughtfear, mistressfriend. Fly fast and strong-claw. I nofear. I fightwell."

The tressym leaped off the bed onto a table and launched himself out the window, his wings taking him aloft over the City of Splendors.

Tsarra felt how happy he was to have a sunny morning, a sentiment she shared. Winter would soon bottle the city in with clouds and cold for months. She slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and exited the guest chamber. A few steps to her right brought her to a closed door.

Khelben enchanted every door in Blackstaff Tower to prevent the room's noises from traveling. The only way for occupants to know someone knocked was to use the metal knocker set at the door's center-Khelben's elaborate wizard mark set in brass over a plate of the same. Tsarra rapped once lightly and entered. If she was not welcome, the door would not budge at all.

She opened the door and smelled smoke just before she heard the roar of expanding flames. Using the door as a shield, Tsarra began casting a defensive spell.

If it weren't safe, girl, I would have warned you thusly.

Tsarra stepped fully into the room, confused by finding flying spells instead of a sick bed for the injured count. He stood with his back to her, his sleeveless tunic revealing his wiry, tattooed arms as he wove another powerful spell. On the far side of the room, a wardrobe, chair, and side table smoldered with light smoke, the charred blast points on the wall suggesting one of the two wizards had unleashed something earlier.

The morning sun did not diminish the glowing shimmer at the room's center. The magical creation was new to her, and she looked to her mentor, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. He merely inclined his head back at Gamalon, who unleashed his spell into the shimmering area. The fireball exploded at its center but did not expand to its full potential. It highlighted a ring of invisible menhirs around the shimmering area, all of which absorbed the magic of his spell. Once the roar of the spell died down, Tsarra could hear the count's ragged but deep breathing.

The totally bald wizard was obviously exhausted, sweat gleaming on his scalp and running down his neck. He turned, and Tsarra smiled as she bowed to him, happy his wounds from the previous night were all healed, save a long-standing injury covered with an eye patch. He nodded to her in return, coming over to grasp both of her hands in his as a typical Tethyrian greeting.

"Well met, young lady. I regret I am not at my best." His dark face showed the strain of heartache, his eye bloodshot. Still, he attempted a slight smile, easily seen around his salt-and-peppered beard, fully regrown and neatly trimmed.

"No regrets, your excellency, save my own. I am sorry not to have been of more assistance to you last night and this morning," Tsarra said. Remembering another Tethyrian custom, she took his hands between hers, folding them together over her heart in honor of his grief.

His only response was to drop his head as tears flowed freely from his right eye. He bowed his head to hers, his voice choked with emotion. "You honor me with that mourner's prayer. Thank you." He dropped his hands and collapsed into the nearest chair, his shoulders and head slumped in grief.

Tsarra looked to Khelben for a cue as to what she should do. He walked around the glistening spell construct, his face an unreadable mask, and spoke up from across the room: "A worthy and intriguing spell, Gamalon. If not for its overlong casting, it would be a boon on the battlefield. Still, truly a spell that needs carry your name." His pacing brought him close to where Gamalon and Tsarra were, and his face relaxed into a look of compassionate concern. Speaking to neither one of them, Khelben looked at a wall and said, "Laeral, please bring the globe if it's ready." He knelt down and placed a hand on Gamalon's shoulder, and the wizard looked up.

"My anger's spent, as are my spells, Blackstaff. I'm just… I can't believe Mynda… Why didn't her necklace protect her? Why?

I… I don't understand…" Gamalon began a series of wracking sobs that did not stop when Laeral entered the room.

In her hands, she held a wooden box. She went directly to a small table near Gamalon and placed the box on it, opening the latch and letting the box's hinges open to reveal its contents. Set into each of the hinged covers was a scroll tube. Inside the box on a velvet cushion rested a globe of rose quartz about two hand spans in diameter. Its surface was polished smooth save for a few sigils lightly etched into it. Laeral and Khelben both murmured the same spell, which Tsarra did not recognize, and their palms glowed as they placed their hands upon the globe, their faces a mixture of sadness and compassion.

Tsarra shuffled around the room, opening windows to let out the lingering smoke. She busied herself with the mundane tasks of tidying the bed and moving the smoldering furniture beneath the windows.

Hearing Gamalon cough, Tsarra poured him a cup of water from his bedside pitcher. She sent the clay cup over to him with a minor cantrip. Gamalon looked at her and nodded.

"Aha. 'Use every occasion to sharpen your magic, even the most mundane. It is not vanity or laziness that makes a mage use his skills in all things, but to honor the gods Azuth and Mystra for their gifts and their trust in him.' That still holds true?" Gamalon asked.

Tsarra smiled in return. "It would seem Khelben's lectures remain the same across the years. You were an apprentice here, your excellency?"

Gamalon said, "Never an apprentice, but kin and a intermittent student over the years. Poorer in magic would I be, were it not for my great-grandfather."

Tsarra asked, "So you too know he's not who he claims to be?"

"Less than one per twoscore who have studied within these walls realize Khelben knows too much to only be a mage of fifty-odd winters.

I always knew my paternal grandmother Kessydra was born in the Year of the Bright Sun as the daughter of Khelben the Elder and Cassandra Simtul-Arunsun. Mind you, I called him cousin for many years before I uncovered the truth. His secrets are there, but only decipherable if he trusts you enough to show you the trail that leads to them."

"Enough, Lord Idogyr," Khelben intoned from across the room. "Here is another secret, though it is pale recompense for its costs."

Gamalon turned to look at Khelben, and stood up, his face paling as he said loudly to the mages Arunsun, "A Nyk-karan Mourninglobe?"

The spell's glow shifting from their hands into the globe, Laeral and Khelben pulled their hands away. Both opened their eyes, and Khelben spoke. "Yes. Laeral and I spent the night preparing this one while you healed and slept. This one is for you-for Mynda."

"Khelben," Gamalon said, "these are priceless, their secrets lost."

"Not exactly true on either account," Laeral returned. "You have four scrolls here with the mourning spell on them-enough for you and your children to mourn her within the globe."

As Laeral spoke and Gamalon sat down at the table with them, Khelben looked at Tsarra and sent to her, You're usually better at keeping your emotions off your face, Tsarra. Your confusion is apparent.

Well, I don't usually see this much new or old magic this quickly.

I've seen more secrets in two days than I've studied in a dozen years here. I've never heard of either mourninglobes or Nykkaran before-was he the wizard who made them?

I forget my days can seem overwhelming to those unused to such tumult. You'll have to get used to this, I'm afraid. As for Nykkar, it is a place. Calimshan has always had Nykkar, a city dedicated to funerary practices and the dead. Some funeramancers of this city first created these globes back when the Shoon dominated the south.

Khelben's lecture went much faster, as Tsarra received images, memories, and knowledge relating to his topic as he sent.

A highly specific spell cast by someone touching a globe allowed one to fully mourn and remember a person recently passed, draining all their grief quickly and leaving them with a globe full of memories. In fact, with enough people embedding their memories and impressions of the deceased into a globe, one could touch the globe later to gain a sense of meeting the departed. They fell from use for centuries when desperate wizards after the Shoon Imperium's fall enchanted them to mind-rape wizards foolish enough to touch one. The keepers of Nykkar stopped making them about the time of the Warlord Laroun, and the mourning spells have been lost to most even longer. Laeral can bring Gamalon the sole surviving copy of Rituals for the Dead by Harun yi Nykkar from my personal library to study today.

She sent, And you just happened to have one of these lying around?

No, he replied. I have yet one more in reserve, which may be used all too soon.

Tsarra realized their entire mental discussion happened rapidly, and Khelben ended it just as Laeral finished speaking.

Khelben answered both her and Gamalon's lingering question. "It is as Laeral says, Excellency. I only wish it were not needed. I've only made nine of these in as many centuries, when I found myself or allies in dire need of mourning without the time to do so properly. There are two mourninglobes in the tower for two former wives. A third rests with her namesake granddaughter Cassandra at the Thann villa. Yet another lies within my first son's tomb in the City of the Dead, untouched in eleven-score years. A fifth has some notoriety, as it mirrors Lhestyn's spirit, though I know not its whereabouts, thanks to the Shadow Thieves."

Gamalon stared at Khelben, exhausted but attentive, and Tsarra wondered about the history between the two men and the women in their lives. She could not grasp the despair gripping Gamalon, as she had long avoided any chance of losing herself in relationships. She had had lovers, including three fellow apprentices, over the years. She always remained pragmatic about them, never letting them get too close. Ever since her father died, she never wanted to feel that pain of loss again. Her reverie was broken by Gamalon's icy words leveled at Khelben.

"I have made many vows to you and through you to great causes, Blackstaff. You have had my trust and allegiance much of my life. If I had known the cost of those vows, I would never have promised them.

Never!" Gamalon appeared calm and quiet as he spoke, but Tsarra could feel the impact his words had on Khelben. "You gave me my 'eye' fifty years ago, hinting it had a great destiny and warning me it could be a great burden. Did you know then this would happen?"

Khelben said, "I did not know the secrets of the gem might cost you so dearly, no."

Gamalon's hands trembled, though his voice remained steady. "Is there anything else with links to this lightning to strike tragedy at my family?"

"No," Khelben said. "What you bear as a kinsman and tel'teukiira, you bear with full knowledge of their abilities."

"Why didn't you tell me, Khelben?" Gamalon pleaded. "I've paid the price with blood-I deserve to know what that bought!" The count pounded the table as tears began to flow again from his right eye.

"Yes, you do, as does Tsarra," Khelben replied. "Unfortunately, the time for such revelations is not yet here, and I need to ask your patience."

"Promise me, Blackstaff," Gamalon said. "Reveal every secret that cost me my wife. Swear by whatever you hold holy."

"You shall know the truth, blood of my blood, and the redemption and peace that shall come from Mynda's unfortunate death." Khelben's sorrow was genuine, Tsarra felt through their link, but even Laeral was agape at Khelben's vows. "This I swear by the silver in my veins, by the Weave, and by the emerald eyes of my daughter Kessydra, your ancestor. Do you need me to pledge by the Nine who Remain, the Six Argent Guardians, or the Twelve Mysteries, among other things?"

"No. Enough. Potent vows, those." Gamalon sighed. "To be honest, I expected equivocation, not a straight answer with vows holy enough to bind a temple elder." The count leaned on the table and exhaled. "I shall assume there is more you need of me, or else you'd have taken me directly to Tethyr." "There is, I'm afraid," Khelben replied. "Tsarra and I must away to unavoidable errands, while Laeral shows you Harun's tome and leaves you to grieve in private. Later, she will fill you in on the preparations, but for today, rest and honor Mynda's memory.

Both Tsarra and I know how devastating that lightning can be, and we'll all need to be ready for a high magic ritual on the Feast of the Moon." Tsarra exclaimed, "High magic? Khelben?" Gamalon said, "You have an unmatched gift for keeping allies and enemies alike guessing, Blackstaff." "Mynda may be gone, Gamalon," Khelben said, "but her friendly spirit shall be with us two nights hence, to see a working unseen in anyone's living memory."